


Boys Just Want to Have Fun, Too

by Hatsepsut



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humour, Impregnation, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of my fic Girls Just Want to Have Fun, where the boys all want some 'boy time' away frm their ladies. Shit, of course, will fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ekocentric](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ekocentric).



 

Hawke heard a loud bang and buried her head in the pillows. Next to her, a white-haired head rose from the bed, shot a look at the door and then at her. A hand, adorned with lyrium lines, snaked out of the blankets to give her a soft nudge on her shoulder.

"Someone is at your door, Hawke," he mumbled, still sleepy, and then slumped back on the sinfully soft pillow. "Again, I might add."

Hawke snickered in her pillow. It had been just a few days ago when Aveline had barged into her mansion, interrupting what had been a marathon of...making up for three long years of being apart. Well, not interrupting, per se, as she vividly remembered now, as Fenris had decided to ignore her presence and taken her against that very same door that was now being banged upon.

"You get it," she yawned and buried her head in the pillow again.

"For a kiss, I might."

She raised her head again and offered him a sleepy smile. "Just a kiss?"

He frowned at her. "No doors. Not again. Not while someone is on the other side."

Hawke snickered again and reached a hand to push back some of the white bangs that had fallen over his eyes, an amused half-smile painting itself on his lips at the tender, carefree gesture. She was just leaning towards him to plant that kiss he had asked for on his sensuous mouth, swollen form last night's activities just as hers was, when a voice echoed from behind the door.

"Hawke? Fenris?" a deep baritone timidly asked in Sebastian's familiar burr. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes!" they both replied in unison, and then a disgruntled Hawke shimmied out of the bed, gloriously nude. She shot him a look over her shoulder before she stretched deliberately, and chuckled at the soft growl that escaped him. Grinning wickedly, she bend over to catch her robe, noting from out of the corner of her eye that his languid, slumbering expression turned to one of heated interest the minute she bend and turned her luscious backside his way.

"You are playing with fire, Hawke," he drawled, and she just winked at him, before slipping her robe on.

She cracked the door open just an inch to come face to face with a blushing Sebastian. The ex-prince took a look at her, at her kiss-swollen lips, the suckle marks and love bites on the skin of her neck, her mused hair, blushed some more and awkwardly rubbed the nape of his neck, averting his eyes.

"I was looking for Fenris," he muttered, "we have an appointment to go fishing today."

She raised an eyebrow at that. Fishing, heh? But Fenris hated fish. That was a lame excuse if she ever had heard one.

She yanked the door open and heard Fenris' indignant "Hawke!" as he was caught stuffing himself into his tight leather breaches, his chest completely bare. Sebastian coughed into his hand, and turned away.

"Oh, come on boys, nothing any of you have not seen before," she casually remarked and then walked past Fenris, on her way to her dressing screen. She trailed a hand over his chest, letting her fingers secretly caress one flat nipple on the way, and smiled inwardly at the way his breath caught in his throat. Fenris caught her hand, his eyes turning dark with desire and moved it away from his flesh.

"Later," he drawled in that chocolate on gravel voice of his, knowing full well he could make her knees buckle with desire with just his voice alone; especially when he lowered it to that rich, intimate octave, that resembled a purr.

Sebastian coughed again.

Fenris tore his eyes away from Hawke with some difficulty, and focused on his friend.

"Sebastian," he muttered, "Do you mind waiting for me downstairs?"

The Chantry brother looked from one to the other, blushed again and rushed downstairs, fleeing the sight of their shared desire like a demon was after him. Maker, he felt as if he had invaded into a far more intimate moment than what he really had. The way those two devoured each other with their eyes, the way Hawke's pupils had blown wide with just one word of the elf, the way he had looked at her, like he wanted to eat her, gobble her up like a hungry wolf...

He sat on the last step of the stairway and sighed. He didn't miss physical pleasure, not much, not always, but this kind of shared, easy intimacy was something he envied. He had seen Fenris literally change before their very eyes those past few weeks, the anguish, the constant brooding, the cold, controlled expression falling away to be replaced with small, hesitant smiles, a relaxed posture and a contended air. A more vulgar man, Varric probably, would say it was because of the sex; he thought it was because of love.

And that, he envied.

He heard a moan from the room, a prolonged agonized sound, and he blushed even more. Another sound, that of a furniture screeching, and his mind immediately supplied him with the image: Hawke, bent over the heavy oak desk she had in her room, her ass high in the air, while Fenris pounded her with enough force to make the legs of the desk screech against the floor.

Oh, Maker. Confession would be so interesting tonight. He hoped he wouldn't get old Sister Petunia again because, last time, after the indecent thoughts she had heard him confess, the old woman had nearly had a heart attack.

And had stalked him ever since.

* * *

"I hate lying to her, Sebastian," Fenris muttered as they made their way towards the Wounded Coast, fishing rods on their backs. "Fishing, indeed. She knows I hate fish."

Sebastian smiled. "From what I just heard..." he shot to the elf, who looked away, slightly embarrassed, "you have your way of...buttering her up."

"Sebastian. Have a care. I don't appreciate my woman being talked of in that manner."

"Then maybe you should refrain from taking her against doors and tables whenever anyone knocks on the door. It is becoming a fetish with you."

Fenris just growled in reply and shot him an irritated look. "Priest, you are not behaving in a very priestly manner, as Anders said the other night."

"Like I said to Anders the other night," Sebastian smirked, a wicked smile gracing his mouth, "I was not always a priest."

They reached the cave, and casually slipped inside, continuing the discussion, good-naturedly teasing each other, passing by abandoned mining carts until they reached the end of the tunnel. Fenris knocked on the wooden partition that blocked the end of the passageway, and immediately a hidden door opened to let them in.

"You are both late," Varric's voice greeted them. "Varric disapproves, -10"

They slipped inside to the well lit room, where a table with a green felt tablecloth already waited for them, and greeted Donnic and Anders.

"Not my fault," Sebastian mumbled, taking the seat next to Anders. "Fenris was...preoccupied."

"Door?" Anders casually asked while pouring ale in the archer's mug.

"Desk, this time," Sebastian smirked.

Fenris shot them both a chastising look and turned to Donnic. "What excuse did _you_ give?"

"We went fishing, what else?"

"We must make sure to buy some fish before going back," Fenris commented, claiming a seat next to the dwarf.

Varric pointed to a crate where freshly caught fish awaited on a thick slab of ice.

"Way ahead of you, Elf. Now, let's play."

* * *

"Fishing, indeed!" Hawke paced the floor in her study, "As if I would buy that!"

Aveline shrugged, and then shot a look at Merrill. "I have no reason not to believe Donnic, but it does sound suspicious that they would all arrange to go fishing on the same day."

"Varric doesn't lie," Merrill piped in, then looked around her, a slightly worried look on her face. "Does he?"

"Oh, Kitten!" Isabela laughed. "Varric can't say good morning without lying twice, honey!"

"Oh...Really? Because he has been saying some really sweet things lately, and if they were all a lie...Oh, I will kill him!"

Aveline raised an eyebrow. Merrill didn't get angry often, but when she did it was a fearsome sight indeed.

"Why is she here?" she nodded towards Isabela. "Hey, wench, why are you here? Who invited you?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, captain Man Hands," Isabela chuckled. "I guess when you find out what your men are up to someone must be there to tell the Prince and the healer off, too. We wouldn't want those two to go scot free, would we?"

Hawke cracked her fingers. " Definitely not."

Merrill looked from Hawke to Aveline. "So, what do we do?"

"Ladies," Hawke cracked her fingers again and popped her neck. "Let's go for a walk. And if we don't find them fishing, they are _fucked_!"

"Oh, goodie!" Isabela snickered, earning a withering look from the Guard Captain. "Can I help? Fuck them, I mean?"

"NO!" three voices answered in perfect unison.

"Spoilsports..." Isabela mumbled, but followed them anyway.

* * *

Varric threw his cards down with a chuckle and gathered all the money in the pot to add to the already impressive pile in front of him.

"You do realizing you are shamelessly cheating in front of a Chantry brother and a guardsman, don't you?" Anders whined.

"Cheating?" Varric gave him an innocent look. " _Moi_?"

Donnic laughed. "Even I know feigned innocence when I see it, Varric."

"Donnic, you must all accept that sometimes you're the statue, and sometimes you're the pigeon. Today, you're the statue. Sorry."

"Being plucked by a pigeon," Donnic sighed. "Aveline will have my hide. I lost all my pay."

"You were fishing and your coin purse dropped in the water, Donnic?" Sebastian asked, drawing a card from the pile. "How sad."

"Isn't lying supposed to be a sin in the eyes of the Maker, Priest?" Anders tossed the tall archer, while examining his cards. "What did you tell the grand Cleric? That you'd be preaching to the fish today?"

Sebastian pursed his lips to hide his smile. "I do not need to lie to get a day off, Anders. I just told her I would be trying to redeem an irredeemable soul. Namely yours."

The blond mage rolled his eyes. "Isn't gambling a sin in the eyes of the Maker as well?"

"I am not gambling," Sebastian offered him a cheeky grin. "I am participating in a friendly exchange of monetary funds, where chance decides the exact proportion of said funds that will be allocated to each participant."

Varric clapped. "Impressed. Varric approves, Choir Boy, +10"

Fenris rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I will regret asking, I am well aware, but what is this minus whatever and plus whatnot thing, Varric?"

Varric shrugged. "I have set a new system. You all lose and gain approval points when you do something I like or something that pisses me off. Just because I'm awesome that way."

Donnic sighed. "Go hang out with my friends sometimes, she said. They are nice people, she said. You'll have fun, she said," he looked around the table. "She forgot to mention you're all completely bonkers."

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "Fenris disapproves, Donnic. -20"

* * *

Aveline and Hawke returned to the small cluster of trees where Merrill and Isabela had taken refuge from the scorching midday sun.

"So, nothing?" Merrill asked when they flopped under the tree, hot and sweaty and incredibly frustrated. "Maybe they went fishing somewhere else?"

"Like where, Merrill?" Hawke snapped at her. "Sundermount?"

"Perhaps, why not?" Merrill snapped back, and then realised what she was saying and hanged her head. "Oh. Because it is a mountain, right? No fish up the mountain, I see. Unless of course they went fishing for salmon...I'll just..shut up now."

Isabela gave a bored huff. "Well, it is a shame we didn't bring any...rods with us."

"Whore!" Aveline hissed through her teeth.

"Avie!" Isabela brought a hand to her chest, feigning shock. "I meant fishing rods! What did you think I was talking about?"

"Girls, girls!" Hawke interrupted. "We need to focus here. Wandering, lying males, girls. Focus."

The women all shook their heads and after some discussion they broke up into two groups, and went in search of the men again.

* * *

A few more games and a few flagons of ale later, nearly all of them were slightly inebriated, all except Anders, that was looking at them with a longing and envious expression. When Sebastian had offered to pour him a drink he had just said with a sad look that Justice didn't let him drink, to which Sebastian had answered that Justice was beginning to piss him off. Anders had just smiled and taken a small sip, out of the prince's cup, and then his eyes had flashed blue.

"A shame," he had answered the Chantry brother with a cheeky grin. "He likes you well enough."

Varric had spluttered at the slight innuendo, and Sebastian had blushed, which had been exactly what Anders had planned. Riling the Prince was, after all, a favourite pass-time. Donnic had muttered that they should get a room, and Fenris had looked from one to the other with shock on his face. After that, and the irritated looks Sebastian had been sending him since, Anders hadn't really said much. Justice was against his playing cards too, whining incessantly in his brain since the moment they had started playing, and after having ignored the voice long enough to get a headache, he now sat in a corner, feeling a bit morose.

Justice was a party pooper.

Fenris and Varric were the only ones playing now, the elf's unusual, intense concentration a fitting match for Varric's cheating, and Donnic, who had lost almost everything but the shirt on his back drank, watched and commented.

Sebastian wandered off the table and sat down on the floor next to Anders.

"He doesn't let you play either?" he asked the healer.

"No. I was just thinking about that. He is a bit of a stuffed shirt, isn't he? Even you, with your vows and all, can get away with having a bit of fun on the side." He sighed and buried his head between his knees. "I don't know why I came here."

"To be with friends."

"Who is my friend? Fenris?" Anders scoffed. "Varric? Or Donnic? Or you?"

"Me?" Sebastian gasped. Then he smiled, his smile affable and relaxed."Your friend? No, not by a long shot. I hate your guts."

Anders raised his head, and a small smile played on his lips too. "I hate your guts too, you arrogant prick!"

A bright smile lit Sebastian's face and his eyes twinkled. "Are you done sulking in the corner like a five-year-old?"

"Sebastian, go do the anatomically impossible, will you?" Anders got up and dusted himself. A little ribbing and riling the Prince went a long way to restore his spirits. And the dammed, irritating, smug, self-righteous...kind, warm-hearted, considerate... son of a bitch knew it.

"What?" Sebastian smiled again. "Lick my elbow?"

Only Justice's influence kept the blond mage from doubling over with laughter. "No, fuck yourself."

Sebastian's eyes shone with a predatory glint, just for one second, but Anders saw it, and his breath caught.

"Actually, Anders," Sebastian purred. "that is not anatomically impossible. Not for me, at least."

And then he returned to the table, but not before shooting the bewildered mage a look over his shoulder that made him suddenly fidget in place to avoid loosening the collar of his robes.

Was it hot in here?

Donnic tossed his card on the table and shot up.

Fenris shot him a questioning look and he shrugged. "I have to go siphon the python."

Varric gave the guardsman the once over. "Shake the dew of the lily more appropriate in your case, Donnic."

Donnic snorted and staggered outside. They had been smoking some foul herbs the dwarf had produced for the last half-hour and his head was reeling. He let the door open for the room to get some fresh air, and then made his way outside, squinting at the bright early afternoon sun. They would have to make their way back soon. This little escapade had taken forever.

He unlaced his breeches and took himself in hand, whistling without a care in the world as he watered the grass in front of the cave's entrance. Just then, as he was shaking the last drops off and was ready to stuff himself back into his smalls, he caught sight of a blur of black hair and seething blue eyes, and paled. If that wasn't Hawke, marching towards him like a bat out of hell, his name was not Donnic. And if Hawke was here, that meant Ave...he turned on his heel and run back to the cave.

Inside, the four men had gathered over the fish that Varric had bought and looked at them with a worried expression. The ice had long ago melted and the fish looked limp and pathetic, while a certain ...not so fresh odour surrounded them.

"What do we do now?" Fenris asked, looking at the fish with disgust.

"We have time to go fishing," Sebastian offered. "I was quite good at fishing when I was younger."

"Understandable, with you being dumb as bait and all." Anders scoffed and picked one of the fish by the tail and waved it towards Fenris that nearly gagged. "Besides, he and Donnic are the ones that need them the most. I have nobody to lie to about where I've been. And you, one of you smiles and Elthina turns to putty."

"What about me?" Varric asked.

"As if Merrill would even notice you are gone, Dwarf," Fenris smirked. "You could tell her you were off frolicking with a desire demon, and she'll pout you didn't take her along."

"For your information, Elf, Merrill has promised to stop that blood magic stuff. Too icky for my taste," Varric coldly said. "-50 for your comment."

"Crush not my tender heart, Dwarf," the warrior scoffed. "How _will_ I ever survive the heartache?"

Varric just looked at Sebastian pointedly, who laughed and nodded. "Yes, Varric, I will alert the Chantry," he said. "Fenris has made yet _another_ joke."

Just then Donnic rushed in, pale faced and with his breeches hanging open.

"Gentlemen," he said, just as they heard a saccharine, sing-song voice call out from the entrance of the cave, "they have found us. I suggest we scamper."

"Oh, Fenrisss," the sing-song voice was coming alarmingly close and thundering steps were following it. "Feeeenyyy! Where aaareee youuuu?"

The elf's ears visibly drooped and he paled.

"Vendetis. It's Hawke."

Varric looked to the alarmed faces around him. '

"Shit storm about to hit, boys. -200. Run for it."

* * *

"I cannot believe it! I cannot!" Hawke screamed at a white faced elf, while Varric, Anders and Sebastian sat around the table, eyes cast down, trying to pretend they weren't hearing one of them getting scolded like a child. "Have I ever forbade you to meet with your friends, Fenris? HAVE I? Have I ever questioned your comings and goings? Why the lies? Whose idea was this?"

Fenris eyes slid to Varric, and the dwarf raised his head to protest but a slap landed on the back of his neck. "Not a word, Varric," Merrill hissed. "NOT A WORD!"

Varric bowed his head again.

Aveline had just marched in, shot a look to Donnic and then nodded to the door. "MOVE!" she had commanded and he had scurried off to obey her, still holding his unlaced breeches.

Isabela was blocking the entrance, chuckling under her breath, and Fenris was shooting her irate looks from time to time, while Hawke raged and screamed.

"Do you realise how many hours we have been looking for you? How worried I was? Do you even care?"

Fenris' face rose at the anguish in her voice. Berating himself for having caused her worry, he made of move to cup her face with his hand but she smacked it away.

"Good thing she didn't bite it off," Varric mumbled under his breath and Merrill cuffed him again.

"Did you speak?" she spat. "Did someone give you permission to speak?"

"Sorry, dear."

"Oh, you will be. Mark my words," she seethed and then nodded towards the door with a curt movement of her head and Varric hasted to get out of there, not even sparing a look to his friends.

Hawke watched Merrill and Varric go, her hands on her hips, her foot tapping against the floor.

"Let's go home," she turned to her lover. "We'll talk more there, where people won't try to stop me when I kill you."

Fenris nodded and started walking.

As soon as they were out the door, Anders left the deep breath he had been holding and turned to Sebastian.

"Well, that was close," he said and Sebastian was just about to reply, when a firm hand grasped one of each their ears and yanked them both to the feet.

"You didn't think we'd get away with it, lover boys, did you?" Isabela breathed in her seductive drawl.

"Now, let me see, what will your punishment be?"

Anders gulped and so did Sebastian.

* * *

She hadn't said a single word on the way home. Not a single word, she had just walked, long, furious strides, eating up the distance, her face grim and her hands clenched into tight fists. Fenris had walked by her side, shooting her glances from time to time to gauge if her anger had cooled down; but no, she had remained furious and aloof, not even acknowledging his presence.

She was facing away from him now, gazing into the fire, her arms wrapped around her as if she was cold.

Still not speaking.

Fenris took one good, hard look at the room around him, the room where he had spend these past weeks in total bliss, totally convinced it would be the last time he was seeing it.

"Just tell me why, Fenris?" her voice was still angry, but there was an undertone of sadness underneath it. "Why did you lie?"

Fenris drew in a deep breath. "It was Varric's idea. A place where we could meet once a month or so and talk and play without Isabela listening in, or Merrill dropping by...it is stupid, I know. It sounded like a good idea at the time."

"Am I too clinging? Do I suffocate you?" she turned to look at him and he was stunned at the tears glistening in her eyes.

"Hawke, no. Never. It was a stupid thing to do. Let us drop it, please."

He eyes narrowed before she exploded again. "Drop it? DROP IT?" she raged. "Drop what exactly, Fenris? That you felt the need to sneak behind my back, as if I were one of your hated magisters, as if I keep you captive in some way?"

He raised his hands defensively in front of him, his eyes widening at the way she had interpreted the whole situation. "I have never felt like that, Hawke, I promise. I feel free with you, I feel whole. I have erred, and I apologise. Let us put it behind us."

She looked a little less angry at his words, a little mollified. Cautiously, stepping carefully as not to provoke her again, he approached her and took both her hands in his hands.

"Let us go to bed, love," he crooned to her, cajoling her with his soft voice, the tone he knew she couldn't resist, sultry and promising. "I'll make it up to you."

Next thing he knew, she had shoved him out of the door, and banged it on his face.

"Go make it up to yourself, buster!" she shouted. "You can sleep on the couch tonight. Or go back to that wreck of a mansion of yours. See if I care."

"Hawke..." he whined and then, annoyed at himself for it he banged on the door.

"At least give me my pillow, woman!" he shouted and the door opened, a pillow was thrown on his face and before he had time to protest the door was shoved shut in his face again.

Sighing softly, he resigned himself to his fate and made his way to her library.

* * *

He couldn't sleep. He just couldn't. Not without her beside him. Not without her warmth, the feeling of her body pressed tightly next to him. He had had the same problem on the nights he had chosen to sleep in his own mansion, and had left her bed shortly after their lovemaking was over; on most nights though, that wasn't until the wee hours of the morning, so he had stayed there, too languid, too contented to move. On those few occasions where he had actually left, it had been the worried look on her face that had kept gnawing his insides with guilt and kept him from sleeping, no matter how tired he'd been. She had had a worried, sad look on her face, and he had known the reason; his leaving in the middle of the night three years ago.

He made his way to the door of her room and bowed his head, feeling utterly miserable. He sighed again. He _could not_ sleep without her. It was like someone had carved off a piece of him, the pain throbbing in his limbs.

A muffled sound reached his delicate ears and he frowned. She was crying. Damn it all to the further, darkest reaches of the Void, she was crying. He had made her cry.

He quietly pried the door open and made his way to her bedside, walking on the tips of his toes, eerily silent, to find her curled into her side, quietly sobbing in her pillow.

His heart bled.

Without even thinking about it, he slipped into the bed beside her, and curled up around her, spooning her; she went tense for a second, before his voice crooned to her.

"Shhh. Amata, don't cry..." he whispered, his gravelly voice instantly relaxing her. "I'm sorry. Don't, Hawke. I cannot stand it."

She turned her face towards him and the sight of her tears was another blow to his soul, making his insides clench. Tenderly, with feather-light touch, he wiped the tears of her face with the pads of his thumbs, but more welled to replace them; he bend his head and licked them off, and she sighed, her hot breath like a caress on his face.

"I can't believe you lied to me..." she whispered, and closed her eyes, more tears seeping through her closed eyelids. "And for something as stupid as this? Why? I would never deny you anything, you thick..."

A kiss interrupted her before she could fly into a rage again, tender and soothing; she tried to resist its alluring heat, its siren's call, but she was helpless against him, and he knew it. He used that knowledge to his advantage now, running his tongue gently along her plump lower lip, kissing her with shattering absorption, with single-minded devotion. He felt like shouting with joy when she relaxed even further against him and her mouth opened to allow him entry; instead he sighed contentedly in her mouth, almost purring at the familiar, sweet taste, the heat that shot to his loins when her tongue met his in the oldest of duels.

Slowly, languidly, his hands roved over the smooth skin of her face and neck, then down to her back and under her tunic, stroking her silky skin while his mouth continued the languid, tormenting rhythm of attack and retreat, caressing her mouth with tenderness he didn't think he had in him.

Hawke arched into his hands, and moaned, surrendering totally and yet still commanding him, every sinuous, supple rub of her body against his like a silent, but irresistible order; like the crackle of a whip, it made his jerk in response. She wanted to be touched, he touched her. She arched her breasts against his chest; he obeyed the unspoken pleas and captured one nipple in his mouth, suckling her till she started trembling. _More_ , the rolling of her hips commanded and he gave her more, unable to resist her. Faster, the tightening of her fingers on his shoulders ordered and he picked up the pace.

His hands now caressed every inch of her with trembling urgency, smouldering passion. He carefully and methodically removed her clothes and underwear, stopping to kiss every inch of skin as it was exposed; kiss and lick and nibble. Fenris felt a nearly cannibalistic desire for her flesh, he wanted to eat her up, make her a part of him, join their flesh together forever. The slow, leisurely pace he himself had set was now driving him crazy, but he resisted the urge to ravish her like a beast; he wanted this to be slow, he wanted it to be gentle. It was his way of apologising, showing her whatever tenderness was left in his soul, worshipping her body like that of a goddess.

But she wouldn't have of it. She ripped her mouth away from his to beg him in that breathless, hoarse whisper of hers, and when that didn't work she run her fingers over his ears as he was again nibbling on the swollen peaks of her breasts and leaned down to whisper obscene, filthy words to him, words that made him see red with desire, made his blood boil and bubble in his veins.

A sweep of her tongue on the pointed tip and his control snapped.

Fenris growled, throwing his head back to the ceiling, nearly howling like the wolf he was name after and then his eyes caught hers and she felt that familiar rush of excitement at the dangerous, out of control, smoking hot look.

Before she knew it she was on her knees, and he was deep inside her, the entry a shock to her senses despite the many times she had taken him before. She looked at him over her shoulder, his name left her lips in a tortured, pleading caress of breath and then she buried her face in the pillow, surrendering to the wild ride she knew he would give her.

Fenris growled again, holding himself utterly still, savouring the feeling of her tight sheath raining heat and fire over his swollen length, before the very last of his control snapped like a thread and he started thrusting in her silky depths, pleasure rippling through him. He was trembling, but he didn't care; he could do nothing but slowly withdraw and plunge again, moans and grunts escaping him. She screamed his name in the pillow as he picked up the pace, until only the furious speed of flesh slapping against flesh matched the deafening sound of his heart thumping in his chest.

Hawke raised her head form the pillow and keened his name, just as she tightened rhythmically around him, her release bathing him in even more heat. When she convulsed repeatedly against him, Fenris felt the world unravel in a series of soft explosions. With her name breaking on his lips, he came undone a single heartbeat at a time, giving himself to her in a torrent of fire as his seed exploded from him to fill her.

They fell on the bed on their sides, still intimately connected, breaths sawing and pleasure still rippling. Hawke could feel him still hard inside her, still twitching with his release, and every little pulse brought on soft, flowing waves of pleasure spreading inside her. His steely arms wrapped around her, and he nuzzled the back of her neck making her sigh softly.

No words needed to be spoken; as her fingers tightened around his, he knew he had been forgiven, and love swelled inside him, until there was nothing else left in his soul. She had been chipping away at that hard wall around his heart for years now, and he nearly gasped as he felt them crumbling down now. His body started shaking again and he realised that without her, he was nothing. Agony sheared his heart at the thought of losing her, at the thoughts that she might one day realise how much better than him she could do. His hand trailed down her side, drawing comfort from the touch of her skin, while his mind raced; how could he tie her to him as completely as his heart was tied to her? How could he make sure than nothing could ever come between them, his stupidity first and foremost?

The answer, when it hit him, was so simple, and so profound, he was left there reeling.

And then he smiled wolfishly, and turned her on her back, surprising her out of her light slumber to take her again and again and again, all through the night.

* * *

Hawke moaned and tried to pull away from the hands that had been tormenting her all through the night. He had been relentless, taking her over and over again, affording her little time to rest, until her body felt strained, barely able to come down from her high before he reached for her again.

Maker, she was going to be sore, she could already feel the tender flesh between her legs swollen and irritated.

"Maker, Fenris," she gasped just as he was bending his head to her breast again, the pleasure too much for her over sensitised body to take. "What has gotten into you, tonight?"

Fenris raised his head and gave her an exhausted smile. "Into me? I thought it was the other way around," he smiled, but relented and fell back on the pillows with a contended smile.

She punched his shoulder and tried to get up to go wash. She was all sticky and...Maker, she was covered in...anyway. She had to go wash.

Fenris' hand reached up and grasped her hand and she gave him a withering look. "Let me up, I need to go wash, I'm all sticky."

He pulled her down, a solemn and determined look on his face, and she felt vaguely worried.

"Fenris?" she asked, puzzled, as he pulled her down and slipped a pillow under her hips to keep her elevated. "What are you doing?"

He blushed and didn't reply, just gave her a serious, intense look. "Stay like this until morning," he ordered and she froze in place, instinctively obeying.

"Why?"

No answer. She tried to capture his gaze, to see what he was thinking in those often unreadable eyes of his, but he had hidden behind his white bangs.

"Fenris?" her voice was scared now. He was acting _so_ strangely. "What is it?"

Instead of an answer he gave her a kiss, and then he used one hand to shut her legs closed and the other to pull her knees up.

"Okay, you're scaring me," she half-laughed, half-whined. "What the fuck is all this crap about?"

He sighed.

"You have nine months to clean up that potty mouth of yours, Hawke," he said. "Starting," and he rubbed her belly, and smiled, a beautiful, hopeful, radiant grin, "right about now."

"Oh!" her eyes grew as wide a saucers and then joy flooded her.

"Not oh. Oops."

"Oops my ass!" she smiled. "You planned this!"

"Language, Hawke," he chided before kissing her again. "Not in front of the little one."

Tears shone in her eyes, but they were happy tears if the radiant smile on her face was any indication.

"Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you? How do you know? Do you keep in touch with all your little soldiers?"

He bend his head to her belly and pretended to listen intently before raising his head to her. A predatory smile lit his face before his voice dropped to that octave that turned her bones to melted butter.

"The report has just arrived," he said, and Hawke moaned as his lips once more captured hers. "The castle walls have been breached."

As it turned out, he was right.

 


	2. Bonus chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote and posted this on FF.net, there were a lot of people sending me PMs asking me to please elaborate on Sebastian and Anders' 'punishment'  
> So this was the result! Enjoy!  
> And please commend!

“No, not that,” Varric raised his hands defensively in front of him. “Anything but that!”

Merrill rounded the table, a determined look on her face, but Varric darted the other way, avoiding  her.

“Varric, come over here, or I’ll take Bianca and sell her to the first merchant I see!”

Varric drew in a shocked gasp. “Daisy! Our baby! How could you even say that?”

Merrill’s eyes gleamed in anger. “Don’t you Daisy me, Varric! As if it wasn’t enough that you lied yourself, you made the others lie too! What if Hawke never forgives Fenris? What if they break up again? It will all be your fault, you lying....dwarf, you! Now, get here and stop squirming, by the Dread Wolf!”

Varric angled around the table again, pretending to move to the left until she made a move to follow his direction and then quickly rushed the other way, running for the stairs.

He didn’t get very far. Green vines sprang from nowhere and wrapped around him, and he squirmed helplessly in place, his eyes wide.

“Daisy,” he sweetened his voice, eyeing the sharp dagger she was holding all the time, trying to cajole her as she slowly approached him. “Sweetheart, why don’t you think this through? You know you’ll miss it once it’s gone.”

She harrumphed.

“It will grow back.”

“Yes,” Varric pleaded once more, “but it’ll _itch_. And you know how I hate being all itchy.”

“Suffer.”

Varric just sighed. Well, there seemed to be no way around it. At least his chest hair would grow back within the week. Frankly speaking, he had been expecting a harsher punishment; Merrill was sweet, sugar sweet, but when she got angry...she scared the piss out of him.

“By the way, I expect you to help me with the mirror,” she added, her eyes shooting green sparks. “And Bianca is off limits for at least a week.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Good, you deserve it, you...shorty!”

Varric sighed. “Now you’re just being mean.”

* * *

Aveline banged the door behind them and Donnic jumped a foot in the air.

He turned to his red-haired wife, who was tapping her foot against the floor, and looking at him with a furious, irate look on her face.

“Explain,” she spat and he squirmed in place, debating in his brain how to handle this. Grovel, or grovel and beg?

Wait, wait, wait! What was he doing here? Why was he trembling in front of his wife? Wasn’t she the one he had picked up drunk as a fish from a tavern just the previous week? What had he done that was so wrong? Okay, he had lied, but in all honesty, he hadn’t done anything worse than drink and play cards. Oh, and lose his entire pay.

“I don’t have to explain anything!” he raised his head and his voice, and squared his shoulders. “At least I didn’t get filthy drunk in a tavern full of sailors that nearly raped me over a table!”

Aveline drew back, surprised for an instance at this show of temper from her usually mild mannered husband, but then a fresh wave of anger rose inside her and she glared angrily at him, taking a threatening step forward.

He didn’t flinch. _Impressive_.

“You lied,” she hissed through clenched teeth, and he took one step forward as well.

“I did. It will not happen again!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

And they were left staring angrily at each other, lightning shooting out of both their eyes, until, Donnic took another step forward and attacked her mouth with a blistering kiss. Aveline tried to hold on to her anger, but now the desire to flail him alive and the anger and adrenaline were feeding another desire; she surrendered eagerly as his mouth devoured hers, and though she heard a growl reverberate in his chest. It made her instantly, insanely hot, the thought of her usually tender, laid back husband asserting his masculine power over her like this.

Before she knew it, she was bent over the table, and Donnic was tearing at the laces of her breeches, pulling them roughly down her legs, and pushing her thighs apart with his knee.

Just before he plunged inside her in a brutal thrust that set her aflame, she had time to think _I should get angry at him more often._

Then all other thought fled, as her husband taught her how amazing a feeling it was to surrender all control to somebody else for once.

* * *

“You have been bad, bad boys...” Isabela drawled, still grasping Sebastian and Anders by their ears. “Now, let me see...how will I punish you?”

Sebastian twisted away from her, and then clutched his painfully stinging ear.

“On what authority do you even presume to punish us, Isabela?” he rubbed his ear.

Anders pulled away too, and shot a look to the priest, blushing a bit. “What he said.”

Isabela smiled like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. Only the feather sticking out of her mouth were missing.

“Imagine what the Grand Cleric will say when she hears that you wasted an entire day drinking and gambling, Sebby,” she drawled and her feline smile grew even wider at the way the tall archer paled.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he muttered, but the look on her face told her that she would.

He was frantically trying to find a way out of this, because let’s face it, Isabela’s _punishment_ was probably going to be something that would make the Grand Cleric even more furious and he had no intention of...Maker, she would ask something sexual, he just knew it, and his gut rolled. Not that he didn’t like women, he did, he had had enough of them in his youth, but he had always had a...fondness for men. And Isabela was not the kind of woman that could incite him. Hawke, yes, the Void take him, but not the pirate whore.

“I’d like to see you try to threaten _me_ with something, Isabela,” Anders huffed and distracted Sebastian’s thoughts. The ex-prince looked at the mage with horror slowly widening his eyes. He would get away with it, and leave him here alone, to face Isabela’s lewd designs alone. Maker!

“Oh, Anders...” Isabela tutted,  “don’t underestimate me, sweet thing. The same threat stands. I will tell the Grand Cleric what Sebastian has done.”

Anders and Sebastian locked eyes, Sebastian pleading, Anders’ eyebrows furrowing over his expressive amber eyes more and more with every ticking second, until his shoulders sagged and he sighed in defeat.

“Damn you, Isabela!” he muttered and then blushed.

Sebastian felt warmth infuse him. The mage could have left, could have escaped scot free. There was nobody to reproach him for having taken a day off to gamble and drink (although he hadn’t done much of either) but he had decided to stick by his side and not abandon him. He had decided to accept Isabela’s intimidating ‘punishment’ so that Sebastian would not get in trouble.

Maker. His breath caught at the realisation of what that revealed about the mage’s feelings towards him. Maker. So it wasn’t just him that...Andraste help him, how was he supposed to resist now that he knew?

Isabela cracked her fingers, looking from one to the other with a wide smile. “So, boys,” and they both tensed, “What I want...is a kiss.”

“I’m not kissing you!” Sebastian splattered.

“I’d rather kiss a gentlock!” Anders hissed.

She laughed and then looked from one to the other.

“Not me, sweet, sweet things,” she cooed. “I want a kiss...between the two of you.”

Sebastian’s eyes blew wide and met with Anders’ and they were both left there, staring at each other, a blush spreading on both their faces, while Isabela hooted with laughter.

“And it must be a real kiss, not a peck on the cheek, or a chaste kiss on the lips. I want a scorcher, boys, tongue and all,” she waved between them. “Get going.”

Anders bit his lip; two crystalline blue eyes trained on that and couldn’t tear away. The mage’s eyes timidly made contact with his, and they both blushed some more, before Anders sighed and moved closer.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, but the way his pupils had dilated were a clear indication that the thought...bothered him. He could only wish the priest wouldn’t realise what a dream come true that was for Anders, how many nights he had fantasised about those same lips that were now moving towards him, making fiery trails down his body. Of course, he had managed to block those thoughts from his mind, but now that their mouth were heartbeats away from each other, he could hide no longer.

He mouths met; it was tender at first, explanatory, each taking in the feeling and texture of each other’s lips. If you asked any of them later, or even Isabela that was watching with bated breath, they wouldn’t be able to say which of them had deepened the kiss first, who had been the first to allow entrance, who had been the first to plunge his tongue into the other’s mouth. They had both left a sigh; Anders’ arms wrapped around the other man’s waist, and Sebastian’s hands came up to cup the mage’s face. Hard, muscular bodies met and moans rumbled in both chests; the kiss grew frantic, both men drowning into the other’s taste.

The kiss went on forever, a real scorcher, just like Isabela had asked, as it had ignited repressed longings and desires long buried in both of them. Anders drew back first, gasping for breath, but Sebastian’s hands tightened on his face and then slipped into his hair, untying the ponytail; a cascade of blond hair fell down to frame both their faces; Sebastian hissed at the sudden jolt of desire and drew the mage back into the kiss, his mouth bruising on the shorter man’s.

The archer’s mouth started trailing down Ander’s throat, nibbling and lathering the skin with his tongue, and Anders tried desperately to hold on to his sanity.

“Sebastian,” he gasped, as his eyes took in a little detail that in the heat of the kiss had escaped them both, “Isabela has felt.”

Sebastian raised his head, startled, and looked around, before his eyes narrowed with intent and he cupped Anders’ face again, running a calloused thump over the other man’s lip, swollen from his kiss.

“Good,” he sighed, before claiming him in another kiss.

“Shouldn’t we...ah...stop?” Anders drew back enough to ask, his breath sawing in his lungs.

Sebastian grasped his by the neck and pulled him near again.

“Do you want me to stop?” he breathed in his silky burr, his hot breath fanning Anders’ face.

“No. Hell no.” Anders shivered and nuzzled the rogue’s nose with his, before running his tongue on full upper lip of the other man. “But what about your vows?”

“I Swore not to take any other bride but Andraste,” Sebastian smirked, before leaning in for another kiss. "And you're no bride."

* * *

 

A couple of weeks later and Hawke opened her eyes to the sensation of her stomach churning and rolling. She shot out of bed, but didn't manage to go very far before she heaved and retched on the floor.

An arm wrapped around her, keeping her steady, while another pulled the sweaty bangs that had stack to her face away from her forehead.

“Oh, Maker, Fenris,” she gasped, “go away. I’m disgusting!”

A kiss landed on the top of her head, while she doubled over with another spasm, that made  her stomach roll.

The door opened and a frantic Oranna rushed in, to stop abruptly at the sight of her mistress, dressed only in a thin tunic, and her elven lover, half-dressed, wrapped protectively around her.

“Mistress!” she gasped. “Again?”

Fenris eyes met the elven servant’s with a pleading look, as if to ask her to help his Marian anyway she could.

Oranna nearly chuckled. For the past few days, her mistress had been throwing up all times of the day, feeling wretched afterwards; she could have sworn master Fenris felt even worse. It clearly made him suffer to see mistress Hawke in such poor state.

She wanted to coo at  how adorable those two were together.

“I’ll go make some ginger tea,” she said. “Master Fenris, why don’t you help her clean up, and I’ll take care of the mess here.”

Fenris nodded his thanks and picked Hawke up to carry her to the bathing chamber, where he carefully wiped her face with a wet towel and then started the long, arduous task of drawing her a bath.

She bent over again, and he got a panicked, frantic look on his face. She was just dry-heaving now, nothing else in her stomach for her to bring up.

“ _That is it_!” he clenched his fists. “I’m fetching Anders!”

Oranna and Bodahn came in to help with her bath, and taking the opportunity he rushed to the healer’s hovel, taking the hidden route through the cellars to get there more quickly.

By the time he was back Hawke was sitting in bed, clean and comfortable, eating a huge breakfast. She smiled brightly at him and he just stared.

“Fenris?” her smile died on her lips, noticing how pale and shocked he looked. “Love, what’s wrong?” she looked past him, to the door behind him. “Where is Anders?”

Fenris’ eyes grew even wider. He brought his hand to his head, and rubbed he back of his neck, visibly awkward.

“What’s wrong?” she paled.

“Ah...Anders...wasn’t alone.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Tellmetellmetellme! Who was it? Isabela? That girl that comes help him?”

Fenris blushed. “No...ah. Vendetis.” Then he smiled. “You’ll never guess.”

 


End file.
